/ˈtō-skə/ noun - Russian

“An immense ache for nothing and everything else at once. An anguish from the bottom of the heart”.

Toska is a subtle ache that fills the quiet spaces of our lives—a longing for something just beyond reach, a yearning that is both sweet and sorrowful. This show is about that subtle yet spectral emotion. Each drawing is a reflection of it: the fleeting play of light, a figure glimpsed and gone, a tree clinging to the edge of the world.

I first recognized this feeling as a child, lying with a friend on a warm roof beneath a sky that looked too blue but too empty. In that moment, we felt both joy and sadness at once—the happiness of the sun on our faces, the melancholy of knowing there was something more, somewhere else. This is the heart of Toska: the ache that reminds us we are alive.

The works—charcoal on ivory paper—are framed in wood touched by fire. The charred timber speaks not of destruction, but of transformation, of what has been tested and endures. After years marked by fire, pandemic, and war, I wanted to create something that calls us back to ourselves—not through grand gestures, but through attention to what is small and fleeting.

These drawings offer fragments of that awareness: komorebi, sunlight filtering through leaves; the blurred glow of light bokeh; tulips bowing to time; a bed that keeps the shape of someone’s absence; a tree perched over an abyss; two oaks standing together; the soft shimmer of a warm night alley; the midway point of a highway that vanishes into dusk.

Toska invites you to stand quietly with these moments, to notice them simply as they are—fleeting, imperfect, and enough. There is no need to search for meaning beyond what appears. In this attention, we remember that longing itself is part of being alive, and that what we see, as it is, holds its own quiet beauty.

Thanks to Void, who helped me with this.